Weekly Visits
by alyssialui
Summary: Rita visits Gilderoy. Gilderita


_A/N: Rita visits Gilderoy. Gilderita. I do not own Harry Potter._

 _Submission for:_

 _ **The Weird Prompt Strikes Back! [Daily Competition]:** Write anything - Gilderita_

 _ **Ultimate Battle Competition!:** Matching Accessory Pack - minimum 600 words_

 _ **Unusual Ships Challenge:** Gilderoy/Rita_

* * *

"Ah, Rita! Darling, darling, have you come to get another interview from me?" the man asks when she steps through the double doors and walks towards his bedside. "People just can't get enough, can they?"

The woman gives him a tight-lipped smile as she takes the seat on the empty chair next to him, smoothing out the bottom of her green dress. "You know how much your fans love you," she murmurs as she reaches into her handbag for her notebook and quill.

She has been coming to the Janus Thickey Ward every week since he had first been admitted more than five years ago. She lets her eyes run across his thinning hair, the smooth patches among the stubble on his cheeks, and the angle of his cheekbones. Time has definitely aged the once famous Gilderoy Lockhart, and all that remains is the shell of a man whose mind had been addled by a botched spell.

She looks down at the ring sitting on her finger, the light from the artificial window above his bed reflecting off its surface. How different would her life had been if things hadn't happened as they did? They had been engaged prior to his incident, intending to be married during the Summer of that year. But now everything is gone. He doesn't remember anything about their relationship, the dates they went on, the moments they shared after waking up in each other's arms, nor the night he had proposed. All he remembers is Rita Skeeter, the Daily Prophet Reporter.

She lets out a soft laugh at that one, thankful that he seems a bit too distracted to have noticed. She isn't even that anymore. Soon after the end of the War, she had lost her job. No one wanted to read her articles when they could get more factual and entertaining pieces from the Quibbler. She is nothing now, simply living off meagre royalty funds from a few things she had written years ago, and having mock-interviews with mental patients.

It hadn't always been this way. Her initial visits were filled with much grief and sorrow. When she had first tried to explain the situation and their relationship, he had begun screaming. He called her a liar and harlot, causing her to run out of the Ward in tears, only to not remember the next time she returned.

She shakes her head, ridding herself of such depressing thoughts. She is here for her visit and she is going to make the best of it. no matter what memories resurface. She gives Gilderoy a wide smile as she balances her quill above the notebook on her lap. "Shall we begin?" she asks, and he happily acquiesces.

The interview begins, and she asks all the typical questions to get the man talking about his favourite subject - himself. She asks about his most recent book, which was actually published years ago and now currently warming the Knut-Boxes at Flourish and Blotts. She asks about his recent travels through Europe, listening to all the stories she had heard before. Her quill moves over the paper dutifully, jotting down senseless words and facts. There is no need to truly record this, but she keeps up the charade because it makes him happy.

Then she gets down to the juicy part of every interview. "So Gilderoy, is there a lucky woman in your life?" she asks, spinning the ring around her left fourth finger.

He laughs, as he always does, before he gives her what used to be a dazzling smile, the effect now diminished by the lack of maintenance. "My life is much too dangerous for me to be in a relationship with anyone. If I did, my partner would have to be smart, fierce, and able to roll with the punches."

She nods, her quill punctuating her head movements. But then he added, "Kinda like you, Rita," a twinkle in his eye that time had not yet taken away.

Her breath catches in her throat, despite how often she's heard it. He had said the same thing many years ago during their first interview. It was what had made her even consider Gilderoy Lockhart as a potential mate, a decision she never regretted.

Her eyes burn behind her glasses, but she keeps herself together for just a while longer. She lets out a polite laugh, and he joins in a bit shakily after a moment. "You flatter me so, Gilderoy," she says, placing a hand on her chest in mock-modesty.

Then she begins to stow her things away. She can't be here anymore. "I must be going now, Gilderoy, but you can look forward to this interview in the Prophet in a few days," she says.

He nods before reaching into the drawer of her bedside table and handing her another one of his signed pictures, matching all the others she has kept in a drawer at home. "Make sure they use this picture," he says. "It brings out my eyes."

She places the picture in her handbag and then leans forward, breaking character for just a moment to place a quick kiss on his brow. "Goodbye, my love," she whispers.

The man's jaw falls open as she begins to walk out of the Ward. Though it's hard to do this every week, to know that he would never remember the next time she visited, it's always nice to know that she can still leave him speechless.


End file.
